


Holy Ground

by Slanguage



Series: Heaven's Grief [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, God - Freeform, Heaven, M/M, Mourning, Post 9x23, Post-Episode: s09e23 Do You Believe In Miracles?, Post-Season/Series 9, Season/Series 10, praying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 06:35:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1678352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slanguage/pseuds/Slanguage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is dead.</p><p>The righteous man has fallen.</p><p>Castiel looks at the bloodied blade, and he doesn’t know what to do.</p><p>So he prays to the two people he know will not hear him.</p><p>He prays to God.</p><p>And he prays to Dean Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holy Ground

**Author's Note:**

> This fic, obviously, has spoilers for the Supernatural season nine finale, "Do You Believe in Miracles?"
> 
> Enjoy!

_You listen here, you son of a bitch._

_You’ve let me down so many times. You might have brought me back, or maybe you didn’t, but you never_ listened _to me. I’ve spent nights screaming to you, asking you what your will is, asking what I am supposed to do, but you never answer. When I looked for you, you told Joshua that you wanted me to stop, and that was when I gave up on ever finding you. Not because you didn’t want to be found, but because why would I want to put my faith in a Father who abandons his children?_

_You brought me back so many times, and all I did was destroy. All I did was rebel and kill and ruin, and I never thought I would be able to face Heaven again, and now I am stuck here._

_This place is holy ground, but it’s haunted by its own demons._

_You brought me back. You made it so that I had to take this path. You kept me alive when I should have died and saved Heaven the trouble. You did this with a plan, or an idea, or a belief. Whatever you did it for, wherever you are,_ you _did this._

_So bring him back._

_You_ son _of a_ bitch _._

 _Bring him_ back _._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Castiel had never cried before.

He had felt the sensation of helplessness, and of panic gripping at his chest, and he had known what it felt like to be alone in the cold and wishing for something that he couldn’t have. Castiel had learned emotions when he was human, had grown to understand that, even through a grace, he could feel them simmering under his skin, dulled but present. Castiel had faced a lot when he was human, had experienced many things but not enough, but he had never cried, not even when he was watching his brothers and sisters fall from their home, not even when he learned that they were all setting out to slaughter him.

But he cried when Dean Winchester died.

Castiel held it together as he bested Metatron and shut him into the jail of Heaven, resisting the urge to kill him mercilessly, torturously, for the way he had spoken of everything Castiel had done for Dean Winchester and then destroyed him better than an angel blade could ever when he said, _Well, he’s dead, too._

Metatron had turned a blade on Castiel, and Castiel should have been worried about being killed, right then and there—but he wasn’t. Instead, he couldn’t breathe, and his eyes burned, and he hadn’t been able to look away from the blood staining the blade, thinking again and again, _Dean is dead Dean is dead Dean is dead_ —and, for one wild second, when he saw the blood and connected that he was staring at what killed Dean when Castiel hadn’t acted quickly enough, Castiel had entertained the notion of throwing himself on it.

Helplessness, when he was a human, was nothing compared to the helplessness he felt as an angel that could have saved him.

Castiel loved Dean with everything in his body. Castiel had given everything for him, and, even if he had ruined himself by doing so, he would make the same choices if it meant he would have ended up only hours before, when Dean had sat across the table and smiled at him and reminded him that the three of them had always been enough. Castiel had been about to do it, then. He had given up his army for one man, the same man he had given everything else he had for, and Castiel was going to look him right in the eye and tell him that he loved him, and that he had always loved him, and that he _will_ always love him.

And then he had lost everything.

Castiel made it back to Metatron’s office and closed the door before he crashed to his knees, and he barely managed to muffle his cry of pain, of mourning, of loss. Tears, hot and heavy like the weight of the world, spilled down his face, and Castiel’s breath was like barbed wire ripping through his chest. He clutched one hand over his mouth and the other against where his heart had once beat, wondering how a heart that wasn’t alive could still feel like it was being torn to shreds.

Castiel’s vision blurred, and his head started to spin, but he looked up and found the bloody angel blade, sitting innocuously on top of the table, like it hadn’t just claimed the life of the best man to ever walk the earth, and Castiel would have screamed if he could make a noise above the sobs ripping through his chest.

He crawled over to the desk, dragging himself onto shaking legs, and he looked down at the angel blade as he sunk into Metatron’s chair, not caring if he was taking the place as the leader, not caring about the exhaustion of the grace ripping him apart, not even feeling any of the obligation and the fear and the righteousness.

Castiel might be something close to an angel, but he had never felt more worthless in his entire life.

Castiel gripped the desk, staring at the blade, imagining Metatron sinking the blade into Dean’s chest, imagining the look of surprise and realization on Dean’s face, and Castiel didn’t even bother to cover his mouth against the cry that released itself around the sobs.

Castiel gripped at his chest, and he cried.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you so much._

_Please don’t be dead._

_You’re the only person I really care about._

_You’re the only reason I’m still alive._

_I did_ everything _for you._

_Every single thing was for you._

_I stayed alive when I was a human hoping you would come and find me._

_I tried to rule Heaven to keep them from hurting you._

_I fell from Heaven and fought against Hell for you._

_I gave_ everything _for you._

_So, Dean Winchester, do something for me._

_Don’t be dead._

_I believe in miracles._

_All of my miracles have been you._

_I can’t do this without you._

_I’m going to die, and I’m going to die knowing I couldn’t save you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I will never forgive myself for never saying it._

_I’m going to die knowing that I never said  
_

_goodbye._

_Dean._

_Please._

_For me._

_One last miracle._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The angels must have heard him screaming, but no one came in to check on him or to ask if he was okay, and he didn’t know if he would be able to face them if they did, because he wasn’t okay. He spent the last of his willpower keeping a straight face to imprison Metatron, to deny himself as being a leader, to deny himself as being an _angel_. He couldn’t pretend to be okay when all of his hope was lost, when all of his will to live had drained out of him as surely as the blood had fallen from Dean Winchester.

Castiel wondered if Dean had died alone, with no one but Metatron there for his final moments. Perhaps Sam had been there, and Sam would be distraught at having been unable to save the elder brother that he so admired, that he still looked up to.

Sam had said things that had let Dean down in the last several months since the fall, but Castiel knew that Sam hadn’t meant them. Dean was still his role model, the person who stayed strong enough to raise him when their father couldn’t or wouldn’t. Sam loved his brother unconditionally, had emphasized Dean’s humanity when even Castiel had begun to doubt it slightly with the Mark of Cain’s effect. Sam would have saved Dean if he could have. Sam would still try, and the realization that neither Heaven nor Hell would want to raise a man with the Mark of Cain will bring Sam to his knees.

Castiel wondered what Sam had done with the body.

He wondered if he would be able to see it, one last time.

He wondered if he could handle it without falling apart.

He wondered if it even mattered anymore.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_I believed in you to be fair, and just, and righteous._

_But you allowed Dean Winchester to die._

_Maybe you’re no God at all._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Castiel wished he had something of Dean’s. Anything.

He needed something to hold onto.

He needed something to believe in.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_You were the righteous man._

_I heard stories about you when I was a fledgling, still young enough that Gabriel hadn’t left, that Lucifer hadn’t fallen. The seraphs told stories of what will come to pass, that there would one day be a man an angel would save from Hell, and he would go on to save the world. I used to wonder, sometimes, what it would feel like to save someone from torment. I wondered what it would be like to save someone at all. Not the kind of saving like when we healed, when we aided villages, even long after Lucifer’s demise when cities were purified in the name of some twisted righteousness—this was a different kind of saving. The righteous man would be rescued, revived, and he would shoulder the weight of the world like the stories of Atlas. I had always liked that story._

_When my garrison was told to lay siege upon Hell, when I was told to save the righteous man, I had never felt more proud to be a being of Heaven. I had never been more proud to be apart of something that would go down in legends._

_I didn’t care if they remembered my name. I couldn’t care less to this day._

_I cared because I would know what it felt like to see the brightest soul of humanity, the most amazing man to ever walk the earth. I cared because I would be able to watch over you, and I would be able to help you, and I wanted you to succeed like nothing else I had never known._

_And then I met you. I saw your soul._

_Maybe Hester was right. It might have been that exact moment, where I grabbed you and pulled you from perdition, that I was lost. The moment I laid my eyes on your soul, when I saw how pure and bright and loyal you were, I was lost, because who wouldn’t put their faith in a man who could shine that bright?_

_You were even stronger, even more loyal, than I had ever anticipated. You believed in fighting fate. You believed in defying death. You believed in your family, in love, and I had known nothing of that until you had let me into yours, and I will forever be grateful for your kindness, and your faith in me and us._

_I have died for you, Dean Winchester, and I will believe in you for as long as I live._

_Angels weren’t supposed to love._

_Leave it to me to fall for a man who didn’t believe._

_Leave it to me to be the believer that made you fall._

~*~*~*~*~*~

The tears had slowed now, but he still had that aching feeling in his chest that felt like it would crush him, and he was stunned—he had never thought that crying would be so painful. He never thought that the physical act would be enough to drag him down, to hold him there. He had thought that weeping humans had been too weakened by their grief, that their pain was from their own mind and not stinging eyes or raw throats or spinning heads.

Castiel gripped at his hair, wanting to rip himself apart. He couldn’t look at the bloodied angel blade, too afraid that he would start screaming again. He kept his eyes on the desk, his head hanging, the back of his neck vulnerable, and he surprised himself with not minding if a wayward angel were to come up behind him and take his life.

Castiel didn’t care about anything anymore. Not right now, when the grief was still fresh, when thinking Dean’s name felt like a new cut into his skin.

It occurred to him in the back of his mind that Metatron may have been lying, that Dean Winchester could be saved. But, somehow, he knew. Somewhere underneath his skin, like a six sense, Castiel knew in an acute and disarming way that Dean was gone, and that he would not be able to save him. He was not enough of an angel to bring him back, and he was not enough of a man to want to know the consequences that may come with trying.

Dean was dead, and Castiel couldn’t save him anymore.

~*~*~*~*~*~

_I don’t want to be one of your angels._

_I don’t want to be one of your believers._

~*~*~*~*~*~

Castiel’s power was waning, but he didn’t care.

He returned to a world without Dean Winchester.

He didn’t know how long he drove from the playground to the bunker. Time ceased to mean much to him, not in the way it used to, when he knew that Dean was affected by time and he panicked again and again that he wouldn’t have enough of it. He didn’t think about how he had last travelled with Gadreel, and how Gadreel had died honorably, and he wondered, again, the circumstances that ended Dean’s life. He wondered, again, if he had been alone.

Somehow, that mattered.

Castiel stumbled through the door of the bunker and found that most of the lights were off, for all but one lamp in the library. Castiel managed shaking legs down the stairs, and he wandered closer, finding Sam in the lamp’s glow, clutching a glass filled with amber liquid, his eyes glassed and unfocused, rimmed with red, his spin pale and thin. Sam watched Castiel approach, seeming surprised to see him, and Castiel wanted to open his mouth and speak, but he didn’t know what he could possibly say.

Sam spoke first. He asked, “You were crying?”

“What happened?” Castiel asked. His voice surprised him—he expected it to be sad and pathetic and shaky, but, instead, it came out vibrating with anger and mourning. Sam’s eyes flashed with pity, and he cleared his throat as he leaned forward, everything in his body language screaming helplessness, hopelessness. Castiel wondered what he must look like, if Sam had known to ask about his grief.

Sam reached up and rubbed his face. “He went to face Metatron. He knocked me out and I don’t know how long later I came to, and I had to run to get there. When I walked in, Dean was bloody and on the ground. Metatron was standing over him. And then he stabbed the angel blade into his chest, and disappeared before I could get to him.”

“He is in Heaven’s jail,” Castiel told him like that would make it better. By the look on Sam’s face, it didn’t.

“Dean didn’t die right away,” Sam confessed, his voice breaking, and Castiel suddenly had to sit down. Sam watched the movement, his face pulling tighter and tighter with vulnerability. “He—he hung on, for a few more minutes. Even joked about me having lied when I said I wouldn’t try to save him if he was dying. Then he stopped me, and he looked at me and told me that he was proud of us, and then he died. Right there. He just became dead weight, and he slumped against me, and he wasn’t breathing anymore. I—I couldn’t save him, Cas. I tried summoning Crowley, because I know he knows something, he always does, but he didn’t show. I don’t know what to do.”

Sam took a long swig of alcohol before he admitted, “I never thought I would actually lose him.”

Castiel thought it couldn’t possibly hurt worse. He was wrong.

“Where is he?” Castiel asked softly.

“I—I laid him down on his bed,” Sam said, his voice shaking, and he looked away from Castiel, blinking rapidly. Castiel looked down at his hands. “I buried Dean after the hellhounds, before you saved him, but this time—I know I have to burn him. I know that it’s too dangerous to leave his body somewhere. But I can’t do it, Cas. I can’t do it right now. I think it will kill me.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t save him this time,” Castiel whispered, his voice catching in his throat twice, and Sam looked up at him, his gaze sad but determined.

“You tried, Cas,” Sam said, “and that’s sometimes all that matters.”

“I could have saved him,” Castiel disagreed, holding firm, but in reality it felt like he was slipping from the edge of a cliff. “I _should_ have saved him. I walked into a trap, and I didn’t find the tablet in time, and now he’s dead. He’s _dead_ because of me. I _killed_ him.”

Castiel surprised himself when his sore eyes misted again, and he felt the first tears fall down his face. Sam watched him delicately, emotionlessly, the same way a man would watch a natural disaster claim his home.

“Cas,” Sam whispered.

“I loved him, Sam,” Castiel confessed, another painful heave ripping through his chest, and Castiel was torn between slamming his fist into something and just trying to hold onto his collapsing chest again when he sobbed, “I loved him, and I killed him.”

“Cas,” Sam murmured again, his voice horrified and pitying and pained as he leaned forward, laying one hand on Castiel’s shoulder, gripping with strength that Castiel couldn’t muster. Castiel wondered how strong humans must really be, if Sam can still hold on. “Cas, don’t do that to yourself, man. Just, don’t. I understand what that kind of grief feels like, and I know how consuming it can be, and it’ll kill you, man. It’ll destroy you.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything at all. Sam seemed to know, or at least guess, because he retrieved his hand and leaned back in his seat, reaching up and rubbing his face, and the two of them sat in a mourning, understanding silence, Castiel’s tears drying, Castiel’s chest tightening. He wanted to break the silence and ask one simple question, but he didn’t know how to, and the two of them sat there for a long time with Castiel trying to wrestle with his vocabulary and Sam trying to resist the urge to ask about what Castiel had just confessed to him.

With strength he somehow managed to muster, Castiel asked softly, “Can I go see him?”

“Of course, Cas,” Sam said, and he closed his eyes like he couldn’t watch this. “Of course.”

Castiel got out of his seat slowly, half expecting Sam to attempt to stop him, but Sam didn’t open his eyes the entire time he walked out of the room. Castiel followed the hallway until he was pausing just out of sight of the open door of Dean’s bedroom, suddenly frozen in place, so scared, because seeing his body would mean it was real, as if it wasn’t real enough already, and Castiel had to take a moment before he just—gave up. He took a deep breath, and his shoulders slumped, and he moved hopelessly to stand in the doorway, preparing to look over Dean’s body like he had when the man had once been sleeping, his hands clutching at the doorway to keep him upright.

Castiel looked to the bed, and then screamed, “ _Sam!_ ”

~*~*~*~*~*~

_Where are you, Dean?_

_Please come back._

_Please come home._

~*~*~*~*~*~

Sam looked like he was going to be sick. Castiel couldn’t blame him.

“He was dead, I swear,” Sam whispered, horrified. “He had no pulse and he wasn’t breathing. He’s dead, Cas.”

“Dead men don’t walk,” Castiel responded hoarsely, reaching up and rubbing his face hard before continuing. “Didn’t you say you tried to summon Crowley, and he didn’t show?”

“Yeah.”

“What if he did?” Castiel asked, and then looked up at Sam, his eyes wild. “Would Crowley have a reason to take Dean’s body?”

“No,” Sam said, cold realization dawning in his eyes, “but he _would_ have a reason to take the Mark of Cain.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

_Haven’t you done enough?_

_Haven’t I given enough?_

~*~*~*~*~*~

Sam closed the devil’s trap, and he summoned Crowley.

He didn’t appear. Castiel and Sam sat at the edge of the trap for long minutes that merge into hours, but there is no sign of the demon, no sign that he even heard them. Sam buried his head in his hands and let out an angry cry that he tried to muffle, but he and Castiel were beyond pride. Castiel had been staring at his hands for the greater part of an hour. He had been so still that Sam had reached out and touched his shoulder, as if to check if he was real.

“We’ll find something,” Sam assured him, gesturing sharply. “We’ll find someone who knows something, and we’ll find out what happened to Dean.”

“Yes,” Castiel said softly, “but at what cost?”

“Whatever it takes,” Sam replied miserably, and his own pain and exhaustion made it feel as if Castiel’s was even heavier, and Castiel turned back to look at the devil’s trap instead, having to avert his eyes.

Sam Winchester used to be so bright that he was painful to look at. He was hopeful, and he was faithful, and he was tainted, but he was still pure. Sam Winchester had hope and love. Now, he’s a broken remnant of that man, an echo lost in the dark, and Castiel never thought he would look at Sam and see the pieces of a man who had been destroyed just as much as he himself had been.

But, still—if there was one thing Sam would always believe in, it was his brother.

“Crowley can’t ignore us forever,” Sam continued his rant, pacing back and forth in the store room, running anxious hands through his hair, and Castiel stood in the doorway of the dungeon, his hands clasped in front of him, at attention like a soldier, because he couldn’t afford to be anything else. “We can find one of his henchmen, someone, and they might at least know where he is, or maybe they know where Dean is. Maybe we could ask Cain, see if this is some part of the Mark, but I don’t know where he is and I doubt he would help us. But maybe we could try.”

Castiel didn’t have to say out loud that none of Sam’s suggestions would work. Sam knew well enough for his own that it had never been that easy, or that simple.

Sam took a deep breath and turned to look at Castiel, his eyes burning with determination as relentless as hellfire. Castiel had never seen heat extinguished so cold before when Sam’s eyes landed on the room behind Castiel, his eyes seeing something and widening, and Castiel spun around quickly, defensively, a quick burst of instinctual panic telling him that something had gone so, so wrong.

Kneeling inside of the devil’s trap, head hanging, was Dean Winchester.

Castiel made a noise that wasn’t human or angelic or anything of this world, and he dove forward, falling to his knees mere inches away, desperation clawing up from the inside of his chest, and he said, “ _Dean_.”

“Dean,” Sam echoed, sounding relieved, dropping to his knees next to Castiel, his hands shaking. He looked like he wanted to reach out and touch the man before him, to touch the brother he had just lost and found again, but he stopped short. “Dean, what happened?”

Castiel could tell. He wasn’t very angelic anymore, but he was still holy enough, and he looked at Dean and saw something was wrong and he knew what it was, but denial was strong, and faith was blind, so he only said Dean’s name again, guarded and scared.

“I didn’t know,” Dean whispered miserably, his voice wrecked, and he shuddered. “I didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. I should have known, Cas. I should have . . .”

Dean let the sentence trail off. Sam, hanging off of every word, looked like he was anticipating a continuation. Castiel, who could see but would not allow himself to believe, did not want Dean to continue. He didn’t want to hear confirmation. He didn’t want to hear anything anymore.

Castiel should have known. Dean should have known. Sam should have known.

They had all been so ignorant, and so blind.

“Dean,” Sam whispered, voice shaking with fear. “Dean, what is going on?”

Dean flinched, and then looked up at them desperately, his eyes shining with tears.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “Please, help me.”

He blinked, and his eyes turned black.

~*~*~*~*~*~

_I love you._

_Everything will be okay._

~*~*~*~*~*~

_Where are you now?_

_I’m screaming for you again._

_I wonder when I’m going to stop expecting an answer._

_Even if I lost faith in you so long ago,_

_I_ still _hope you’ll answer._

_And that’s pathetic._

~*~*~*~*~*~

_I’m sorry, Dean._

_Nothing will be okay._

_I wish I could lie to you._

~*~*~*~*~*~

_I was so loyal to you._

_You were_ everything _to me._

 _I was one of your soldiers. I would have done_ anything _to prove that I was loyal to you, and now I am standing on Earth, screaming until it feels like my lungs will burst, wondering if the tears will ever cease, wondering if you can even hear me, or if you even care anymore._

_I will never understand how you could ever leave humanity._

_You allowed Dean to become this._

_I will never believe in you again._

~*~*~*~*~*~

_You have to be okay. You have to be._

_Because, if you aren’t, then I never will be again._

_I love you._

_I will help you._

_I will save you._

_It’s the only good I have ever done._

~*~*~*~*~*~

_You are dead to me._

~*~*~*~*~*~

_You will live again._

~*~*~*~*~*~

_I am not your soldier._

~*~*~*~*~*~

_I will be anything you want me to be._

~*~*~*~*~*~

_I no longer have faith in you._

~*~*~*~*~*~

_You are the only thing I believe in._

~*~*~*~*~*~

_Dean Winchester will be saved._

_And I will do it without you._

~*~*~*~*~*~

_You are my miracle, Dean._

_So do me a favor,_

_and believe in me, too._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> My Tumblr: shortenedlanguage.tumblr.com
> 
> xo Slang


End file.
